


the weight of the sky on top of us

by cynical_optimist



Category: Class (TV 2016)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, sad boys with terrible parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical_optimist/pseuds/cynical_optimist
Summary: Charlie nuzzles softly into your chest. “Are you okay?” he asks, and that’s certainly a question, isn’t it?You inhale slowly, then exhale, and say, “No.”He runs his hand up your back and then back down, fingers forming shapes around your spine. “I don’t know,” he says, voice stilted, “how to comfort humans. Not really. On my planet, physical touch usually helped, but you’re so different.”Closing your eyes, you focus on the patterns he is making on your back, breathes in time with the steady motion. “This is good,” you say, and you can feel him smile into your chest.-Matteusz and Charlie have both lost much, but they are not alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tender boys being soft and sad is my weakness and that's the only excuse I have. Is it even an excuse? Unedited because no one I know enough to ask to beta watches Class.
> 
> Title from Benjamin Francis Leftwich's [Just Breathe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0pXUide7eU), which is a very good song.

When you wake up, Charlie’s in your arms, and for a moment it’s as though you just slept over at your boyfriend’s house after fending off another round of invading aliens. If you close your eyes, you think, maybe you can stay like this, ignore that you know there aren’t any missed calls on your phone even without checking, that you still have to go back home to get your stuff, that it’s not home anymore, not really.

You close your eyes hard and tighten your arms around Charlie, burying your face in his hair. He murmurs sleepily, and you can feel as he wakes up, at first in increments and then altogether. You  want to stay here forever, pretending you’re asleep, curled too tightly around your boyfriend to worry about what your parents have said.

You’re wider than Charlie, and taller, so it’s not like you can just borrow his clothes forever, even if there weren’t things you wanted to get. There’s the books from your grandmother, your first pride flag, your favourite mug. All your schoolbooks. You’ll have to go back sometime.

“Matteusz?” Charlie mutters into your chest. “Time’sit?”

His accent slips into something strange when he’s tired, something that doesn’t sound quite like any human dialect you’ve ever heard. It’s a phenomenon you’ve only experienced on occasional school mornings before this, and it’s most likely the most adorable thing you’ve ever heard.

“Early,” you answer, in lieu of checking your phone. It’s right by your fingertips and it wouldn’t take any effort to reach, but—

You know there’ll be no messages on it. You know. There’s no reason to hope, no reason to avoid checking just in case. You still don’t pick it up.

“Okay,” Charlie says. It’s not a school morning, which is lucky, because there is nothing you want less than to go sit in that building and learn about whatever it is you usually really enjoy. It’s the people there, probably, with their apathy and perception and endless rumours. If you turn up like this, barely able to muster a smile,  stretching out the corners of your boyfriend’s clothes, you can’t help but worry that they’ll know. Poor Matteusz, who couldn’t just pretend, couldn’t just fit with his parents’ expectations and settle down with the person of the correct gender. Poor Matteusz, who has to rely on charity until he can get himself on his feet.

Charlie nuzzles softly into your chest. “Are you okay?” he asks, and that’s certainly a question, isn’t it?

You inhale slowly, then exhale, and say, “No.”

He runs his hand up your back and then back down, fingers forming shapes around your spine. “I don’t know,” he says, voice stilted, “how to comfort humans. Not really. On my planet, physical touch usually helped, but you’re so different.”

Closing your eyes, you focus on the patterns he is making on your back, breathes in time with the steady motion. “This is good,” you say, and you can feel him smile into your chest.

“Good,” he answers. “We can just—stay here, then?”

You want to—how could you not? You’re in a warm bed, a cute boy that you love (that loves you) in your arms. What if you just blocked out the whole world, let nothing matter but that?

Stretching out your fingers, you pick up your phone. The moment before you press the power button, your heart skips.

The lock screen displays only the time. You don’t know why you feel disappointed.

“Matteusz?”

Charlie had asked you a question, hadn’t he? “Hm?”

“Do you want to get up?”

You consider for a moment: on the one hand, coffee. On the other, that means leaving this bed, facing the world.

“Not really.”

“Okay,” he answers, and that is all there is, for a while. The two of you breathe together, slow and steady. You close your eyes, count until you begin to lose hold of the numbers.

You should be glad, you think, that at least your family is not sending you furious messages, refusing to let you go in peace.

At least that, though, would mean that they cared. This—this _nothing_ —is just a taut torment, a reminder that even though they’ve kicked you out, even though your sister wouldn’t even watch as you stumbled out the door, you still care more than they care about you.

“Parents suck,” you sigh.

Charlie stirs. “Suck?”

“Are bad,” you supply. “Difficult to deal with. Not all, but—” Charlie had told you that he was a valuable piece of property to his parents. He, perhaps,  can understand this more than anything. More than you can, really—at least yours can still call you if they’re ever ready to talk.

Charlie hums. “Maybe the children suck sometimes, then,” he says, then shifts suddenly so that he’s  staring into your eyes. “Not you,” he says. “You—you’re good. You did nothing wrong. You’re wonderful.”

You can’t help but smile a bit at that. You’re still processing his earlier words, still formulating an answer.  “So are you,” you say. “Really.”

Charlie smiles, but it’s more sad than anything. You reach up and run your thumb across his cheek. “My parents only appeared for a moment,” he says, voice thick. He blinks once, heavy. “They didn’t even form fully before they were gone. The Lankin prey based on the target’s emotions. Even Quill’s sister—”

“Ah.” You keep your hand on his face, curl your fingers into his hair. There is so much you could say and nothing at the same time. He wants to remind him that their love is supposed to be reciprocal, that it can’t just be Charlie’s wishes, but you can’t find the words in English. He knows, anyway; this is his people and his culture and his sorrow.  “I’m sorry.” Your heart aches for this boy, the last of his people, unloved by his parents and stuck in a world that is not his own. More than anything, you wish that your family would just accept you, but of all the people to be thrown out for—Charlie deserves to know he is loved, needs this knowledge more than anyone you know.

Charlie settles back down, his shrug doing nothing to hide the look on his face. He curls back into your arms, sighing heavily. “I think I failed them,” he says, and his breaths shudder just slightly. “I think…”

This is not a side that you have seen of Charlie regularly. He is a prince, regal and composed. Princes do not break down, do not fear their failures.

Charlie is a boy who has lost everything and is still learning how to deal with it, who does not always know how to be a person beyond the crown. How could he, when the crown was all his parents ever expected of him?

“You haven’t failed,” you say, and press your arms around him more tightly.

“Neither have you,” he replies

“I love you,” you whisper into his forehead, into his cheek, into his lips. “I love you.”

Charlie buries his face in your neck and murmurs his reply into your skin, and, together, you breathe. The world is still turning around you, still filled with people who hate and people who love and people who are just learning about both. Your family is still at home, most likely not even regretting their decision. Outside your little refuge, nothing has changed. Neither of you are truly all right.

But here, in this room, buried underneath too many blankets, you press a soft kiss to Charlie’s nose, and he smiles, just a small quirk of his lips, and you are safe.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](https://boxesfullofthoughts.tumblr.com), if you want to come talk to me about this show.


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